The Idiot Knight and Squire
by UnluckyWriter
Summary: In which both of our favorite boys are love-sick idiots. Pairing: Michael/Fisk  Rated T just in case...TWOSHOT
1. Fisk

_**The Idiot Knight and Squire**_

_**TWOSHOT**_

_**Disclaimer:**__** I do NOT, I repeat, do NOT own the amazing books of Hilari Bell's keeping of which I am immensely jealous of.**_

_**Warnings:**__** OOCness, slash, alcohol use, profanity, etc.**_

_**Note:**__** I apologize for the rushed, crappy writing. The naming of the town and people are like, unoriginal. I hope none of you dear readers die from this. OTL**_

_**Pairing:**__** Michael/Fisk (Psh, dur. Who else is the idiot **__**Knight and Squire**__**? XD)**_

**X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X**

Fisk wasn't naïve.

Far from it actually. He considered himself a cynical, sarcastic individual, after all.

He also knew many things.

Like how to make the perfect con go smoothly, how to card-sharp (mathematically and dirty-playing wise, of course.), how Trouble (or True, his adventure-seeking employer fondly named.) loves to be scratched _just_ right there behind the left ear, or how much money they had in their purse right now, oh, and things about Michael.

Like for instance, he knew his idiotic employer was still in love with Rosamund.

Who was said employer's third-fourth cousin in the family tree.

Who's a girl.

An extremely _beautiful_ girl.

Though, she was a rather ditsy, beautiful girl.

Oh, and she was _married _to another man who is _not_ Michael.

Yet, the male in mention was still in love with the married, lovely ninny.

So yes, Michael was an idiot. That's in love.

But so was Fisk.

Who was in love with his 'Noble Sir,' or, commonly known the most to the general public, _Michael._

Yes. Fisk was an idiot, because he knew_,_ and no matter how much it hurt, he _knew_ Michael wasn't in love with him, or with any other males, for that matter.

Which was why it came to the former conman's extreme surprise-no, _shock_, when Michael practically jumped and began kissing him.

Wait…what?

Let's begin at the…well…beginning.

It was late in the afternoon, Fisk remembered, and he was sweating from the dry sun's rays as he walked to the bar where Michael worked as a bouncer, Trouble following him with a joyful vigor.

After spending some time with Master Makejoye's troupe, Michael and Fisk finally set off on their own, wanting to spend some time away from acting for a while before possibly returning back to the traveling life.

Now, the two were in the town a little ways off the coast called Shelren, a town whose furniture and everyday machinery and utensils were made of seashells, strangely enough. But it was a good enough place, and the majority of the people hadn't condemned Michael for his being of unredeemed, so they had stayed there for a good six months, working to make money, and just enjoying the everyday life of the town.

Seeing the place where his elder friend worked, Fisk sped up, intent on greeting Michael, when all of a sudden, the door of the bar slammed open with a tremendous '_BANG'_ and the man in mention stepped out, blinking at the rush of sunlight.

Fisk was a little confused at the door-slamming, wondering if the other had somehow pissed off some men, so he yelled out a, "Michael!", to get the taller person's attention.

Hearing his name, Michael glanced up, and he grinned a _face-splitting _grin as he sprinted towards Fisk, happiness shining in his dark eyes like a beacon.

The squire felt himself falter, breathing stopping at the look in Michael's eyes, at the pure, beautiful _joy_, and he looked behind him, thinking that his friend was looking at someone else, but seeing only Trouble wag his tail and loll out a pink tongue as he sat on his hunches.

"Er, Michael…?" Fisk began to say, arms raising up a bit, "Who're you looking at-"

He never got to finish his sentence as unredeemed knight plowed into him with an exalted laugh.

Fisk sputtered, suddenly finding himself on the dusty ground and an armful of his trouble-seeking friend. "Under the two moons-what the bloody hell, Mike?"

"I love you!" 'Mike' replied, rather cheerfully. He than proceeded to lean down and mold his lips clumsily with the former conman's own, moving passionately, yet sweetly as he deepened the kiss.

Fisk's eyes popped wide open in shock at the loud confession, quite aware of the public's reactions (the men were grimacing at the display, whilst the general female population giggled and stared intently at the sight. What strange people they were.), and felt his heart practically _stop_ as he felt the elder's chapped lips moved energetically over his own.

What?

"Ngh-Mike-_ Michael!"_ Fisk yelped out, managing to disconnect the lip lock as he pushed the latter's chest back forcefully, face red and flustered. "Wha- what?"

"I love you," Michael answered, grinning goofily. "I love you…"

Saying that, he leaned, arms going around his squire's waist as he kissed again, smiling all the while.

To say that Fisk was happy was an understatement. His heart could have _burst_ from all the shocked happiness it was getting.

As much as he was feeling happy that Michael finally reciprocated his feelings, he was scared that it was actually all a dream, and that when he woke up, everything would be as it is, normal, with Michael not loving him but for another, that he would face another day with internal heart pain, knowing that the older man didn't love him like he wanted, oblivious.

But the tongue that gently licked his lips assured that _this_ was real, and it wasn't a dream, that Fisk _can_ be happy, after waiting for so long, wondering when the unrequited love would finally end, and Fisk was just so _happy_ that it hurts.

His thoughts were interrupted as he opened his mouth, inviting Michael in, and the kiss felt so _good_—and then his joy died like flowers dying in the cold.

He could taste it, and Fisk cursed himself and his quick leap at fake happiness, when he should've paid more close attention to Michael's movement, his speech, his expression.

But he was just too cursed _naïve_ to even notice that his best-friend-who-was-in-love-with-Rosamund-and-not-with-him was _drunk._

The alcohol was thick on Michael's tongue, and Fisk recoiled wildly, shoving the knight back in the dirt as he himself shakily stood up, shocked and hurt out of his wits.

Michael blinked, alcohol clearly messing with his mind as he slurred out a, "Where'd you gooo…?"

"M-Michael…" Fisk stammered out, angry and embarrassed, and then he heard the laughter.

"Oh, we did it, boys!" One of the men, Talon Weaver, a fellow worker of Michael's, whooped. "Now those two denying lovebirds can get together!"

The other men behind him equally laughed, hanging onto each other as the humor of the situation got to them.

"_Michael and Fisk, sitting in a tree~! K-I-S-S-"_ the males began to sing, elbowing and grinning at Fisk's dumbfounded look. _"—I-N-G!"_

Seeing the men laughing, seeing them gloat mockingly at his obvious failure, Fisk felt anger rise up swifter than the happiness from before, and his fists involuntarily clenched.

"_Shut the hell up!"_ Fisk all but roared, glaring venomously at the suddenly quiet men. He gestured angrily at the confused, drunk Michael, the latter blinking blearily up at them. "What did you do?" Fisk demanded, stalking towards the now silent group. "Tell me!"

With a hiss, the squire lunged forward, grabbing Talon by the shirt collar and jerked the taller man close, staring darkly in the other's frightened blue eyes. "_Tell me,_" Fisk snarled, "Tell me what you did to Michael, you incompetent dumbass!"

"We- we-" Talon stuttered, growing pale. "We had a-assumed that you two l-love each other, I mean, the way you two act a-and all, so me and the boys just decided to help out with you two, a-and so we gave Michael drinks, and kept giving him some m-more, and when he didn't notice, we spiked his w-water with the alcohol he h-had refused!"

Fisk's grip tightened further, before he let go, stepping back and glaring coldly. "You assumed wrong."

He spun on his heel and stalked over to the still-sitting Michael, hoisting the taller man up and wrapping a firm hand around the latter's waist.

"Don't you love me, too?" Michael asked, innocently, looking at Fisk.

Fisk felt his throat close up. " 'Course I do," the smaller said, softly. "But I'm not Rosamund."

Whistling to the terrified Trouble to follow them back to their inn, Fisk gave one last glare at the petrified men.

"I swear," Fisk said lowly, giving a look to each face. "If any of you _ever_ try that again, I swear…"

He let his threat hang for them to wonder as he walked away, dragging Michael along with Trouble following dejectedly behind.

**X-X-X**

Fisk set Michael down in his bed, the latter snuggling into the sheets with a contented sigh.

"I love you," Michael said, smiling from under the blankets, and Fisk wanted to break down at that soft, blank smile.

He shook his head, already exiting their room.

"Not in the way I want, Michael," Fisk whispered hoarsely, closing the door. "You don't love me like the way I love you."

Michael watched the door close, his eyes mirroring the movement as he replied to the closed door.

"I love you…Fisk."

**X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X**

_**Our dear Mike's part is next! **_

_**TBC…**_


	2. Michael

Michael knows what love is.

He had fallen in love with Rosamund once upon a time back then, after all, and why not?

She was beautiful, rich, gifted, and so, _so compassionate_.

Who couldn't love someone like that?

But she was unreachable for the someone like him. Unobtainable.

And Michael suffered like the love-sick fool he is, feeling pained ever since realizing the fact _that he can't have her_. So he went, thinking that even though he couldn't have her, he would still love and cherish her, would help her when needed, would do anything for her.

Even delivering her to her true love.

Watching _Rudy and Rosamund _embrace and kiss, Michael wanted to kill himself, feeling dejected, rejected, hurt, and he _shouldn't_ feel that way, but he _did_, and it just was too painful.

After Rose and Rudy finally left to start another story with each other together, Michael felt empty, but _still so much in love._

So with that emotion in mind, the knight vowed to upheld that love and never betray it.

But Fisk.

Fisk was a whole new matter.

Fisk, who's been with him through thick and thin, saved him, helped him, was by his side for so long…

Fisk who was talented, secretly caring, and _so, so amazing._

Fisk wasn't Rosamund.

But why did Michael still hold the con man in the same regard as his past love, if not even higher?

It was wrong, wasn't it?

He and his squire were both men.

He loved Rosamund, right?

Didn't he promise not to love another?

But Fisk…he was something else.

And that scared Michael.

Sure, maybe he could blame it on the closeness. The two were never separated, they were constantly at each other's side, always together.

So, with that plausible theory in mind, Michael purposely separated from Fisk for a _whole month._

A whole month without Fisk.

It should've worked. Should've cured the feelings Michael felt towards his squire.

_But it didn't._

Michael really did try, honestly.

He went out drinking, meeting new girls to try to speed the process, but _nothing_ worked.

A whole month passed with Michael wondering and worrying about his squire, missing him, _empty_ without him.

And then Fisk found him.

Glorious, furious, livid, Fisk.

A raging Fisk had screamed, pummeled, and snarled at him some more, asking where the knight had gone and why.

Staring into his Squire's bright eyes, Michael felt himself falling in love even more.

But he still lied and said, "I got lost."

He might seem to others as a courageous fool, but in reality, Michael considered himself a coward.

A coward who was so far deep in love, but couldn't even confess to someone_ that was sitting right next to him._

He loved Fisk's rare smiles. Loved his laugh. Loved how he looked when concentrating over something.

Michael was in love with Fisk and not Rosamund.

He remembered panicking over that fact, trying to not fall for his squire and remember the love he felt for the beautiful girl.

But he couldn't remember anything and could only think of Fisk's devotion and determination to stand by him, nothing about Rosamund.

At that point, Michael realized that the days of love for the unobtainable girl was over.

But he was still a coward towards Fisk.

He shouldn't be, he knew, for, Fisk must somehow inadvertently return the same feelings, too, right?

Whatever Fisk did for Michael, it was full of care and gentle aid. The man had stood by him, stand up for him, cared for him, and Michael had thought, once catching his Squire staring at him on accident and noting the indescribable look in the sandy-haired man's eyes, he had thought Fisk loved him, too.

Until Fisk had murmured something that made Michael stopped in his tracks cold.

It was night and the two were sleeping.

Michael couldn't fall in slumber, and instead, decided to pass the time watching his squire sleep.

The moonlight bounced playfully off of Fisk's hair and face, making it glow and look unearthly, magical.

As if to add to the magic, Fisk muttered lowly in his sleep, a needy "_Michael."_

Needless to say, Michael's heart soared and he sat up, intent on going over to his companion and reciprocate the feelings, but then Fisk turned over, breathing out, "_Jack."_

Michael froze, feeling his heart shatter.

The way Fisk had said his past partner- in- crime's name. The way he breathed it out gently, sadly, angrily, _lovingly?_

Michael just had to wonder how deep Fisk's and Jack Bannister's partnership really was, and he felt angry and cheated, that how someone that had hurt Fisk so much, could still be loved by him, even when there's someone else, Michael, to love Fisk.

It wasn't fair. But Michael had no say.

He was a knight, and therefore, he couldn't accost Fisk and steal him away, because he wanted Fisk willing, wanted Fisk to _love him for him,_ not as a replacement, nothing like that.

And with his heart broken, Michael still loved Fisk.

Michael woke up with a lurch.

The room smelled like alcohol, and he wondered why until he remembered the happenings of yesterday.

He noticed the pan of water next to his bedside and he panicked, wondering if Fisk had seen him in his drunk condition, wondering what exactly happened yesterday.

_Where was Fisk?_

Seeing the bed across from him made and not at all looking like it was slept in, Michael felt his heart sank.

What did he do yesterday?

He knew that being under the influence of alcohol tend to usually make him more truthful than he dared, so did he say something that made Fisk run?

Wondering if that thought was true or not, it made Michael's heart hurt as he realized that whatever he unconditionally did yesterday could've drove Fisk away.

He couldn't live with that if the con man left him.

So after cleaning himself up, Michael set out to find his elusive squire, wondering and anxious.

He instead found Talon Weaver, one of the various men that got him drunk.

With blood boiling, Michael was angry and intent on hammering that face in for what the other had done, but before he could do so, Talon held up his hands defensively and said, "I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" Michael asked, livid. "Sorry for getting me drunk and doing something that could've drove my squire away? You're sorry, now?"

Talon winced. "Erm…yes. I apologized for that." The blonde man paused. "And well, you didn't really _drove_ him away. You had merely, ah, drunkenly confessed your love for him. And…well. He delivered you to your room and walked away."

Michael groaned, slumping against a helpful wall. "What have I done…?" He stared desolately into the distance, a million thoughts racing through his mind, but the one that stuck out the most was, "_What will I do if he goes away for good…?"_

Silence.

Then Talon Weaver said, conversationally, "He loves you, you know."

Michael snapped to attention. "What?"

"Fisk loves you, too, you know," Talon answered, looking slightly uncomfortable but determined.

Michael glared. "Liar," he spat out uncharacteristically venomously. "You've caused me to get drunk, made my squire leave, and now you're feeding me these lies? Haven't you have enough of your fun?"

"I'm not lying," Talon protested. "It's true! He said he loved you, also!"

"If you go along with a drunken man's ramblings, things would usually turn out all right, even if 'tis a lie," Michael told the other man darkly.

Talon shook his head. "No…I'm telling the truth, Sir Michael." He looked deep in thought, as if remembering something crucial. "You should've seen the look in his eyes when he told you he loved you," Talon said finally. "I… I can't describe it. But it was real. Whatever Fisk was feeling, whatever he was saying to you, it was all real. It wasn't a lie."

Michael stared silently. "How do I know if you're telling the truth…?" He said, sounding small and young. "How would I know?"

Talon finally smiled. "Go ask him. He's in the stables with your horses, Knight. He hasn't left, and I'm sure he won't. Just go ask."

"What if he refuses?"

Talon shrugged, beginning to turn on heel and stride away. "You never know until you try, Sir Michael."

Watching the receding back, Michael felt a surge of confidence, and he stood up, going in the directions of the stables.

Minutes later, he arrived, and he peered in, seeing Fisk brushing Tipple, talking gently to True.

Seeing how soft Fisk's eyes looked, how careful he handled the animals, how his lips curved gently, Michael smiled.

For once, he'll take hold of his free-flying courage and Talon's advice.

"Fisk."

**End.**

**Yes, that's the end. Finally. I apologize for the late as heck update! But it's finally done! *parties* And it's been some time since I read the books, so, er, yeah…some things might be wrong. *dies***

**Expect another KnR oneshot soon! XD**

**Reviews are always welcomed and loved and cherished. 8D**


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